NOTE: this chapter is kinda angsty, and the next one will be even more so. But don't freak out, I WILL have some sweet fluffy and humor to hold y'all over ;) Please leave a review if you like something, you have no idea how much it means to us writers. As always, thanks for reading! Enjoy


Lizzy Bennít, when she was able, preferred to sleep in. Unfortunately, she was of a disposition where when the sun came up, her body was up. She really liked it better when she was unconscious at the Playpen. Where she wasn't even aware that she had been sleeping in her friend's arms all night— when all she knew was that she was warm and safe and blissful.

Even when she did wake up, it was scary to her that she wasn't scared. She was snuggled up to some man, and his arms were caging her in as they pressed together. But this wasn't some man. This was Will. Sweet, awkward, sarcastic, confusing Will. Will who she definitely liked more than a friend, who didn't reciprocate.

Who, by that way of logic, is someone she should have NOT pressured into sharing a sleeping bag with.

The night was warm, and, cuddled together indoors in a sleeping bag in the middle of Southern California summer, Lizzy was well aware of the fact. Her skin felt slick and gross, her hair was a tangled mess— made all the worse because one of Will's hands was buried hopelessly beneath the curls.

Lizzy needed to get up, get off of her friend, and take a shower. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her breakfast was also on the agenda.

As slowly as she could (partially because she was reluctant to leave the warm safety of Will's arms, and partially because she didn't want to wake him) Lizzy pulled herself up, inch by inch. Her cheek made a sticky Velcro sound as she lifted it from Will's chest. Propping herself up on one elbow, Lizzy surveyed the sleeping bag. She could feel one of her legs slung over Will's hips, the other resting somewhere warm and solitary.

Lizzy reached over top of her bedmate and slowly undid the zipper. Nearly there. Ever so slowly, Lizzy clambered over Will, just a few inches away from straddling him, and began to push off of the ground to land on his other side.

One eyelid twitched. Will made an adorable sleepy moan, pawing the spot where Lizzy had been. She smiled a little. God. If only they were together— she could kiss the half-awake frown from his face, and he would wrap her up in his arms and cuddle her, just for a little while longer. But that would never happen. She had to remember that.

As Lizzy shoved down her disappointment and started to ease her weight off of Will, his eyes opened, and focused. Lizzy caught them widen, his face turned scarlet, and suddenly they slammed close again before she could turn and greet him. Lizzy watched as Will forced his face to relax and his breathing deepened again. There was a certain tension between his eyes, and Lizzy could feel his pulse speeding up. But he didn't move. Not even one muscle.

He was pretending to be asleep.

Lizzy would have smiled, had she not felt so crummy inside. He really didn't like her, except as a friend. And maybe not even that, really.

Lizzy slid off of him and out of the sleeping bag. As soon as she was out, Will (still pretending to be asleep) made an obviously fake murmuring sound and crossed his legs, turning his body away from her.

He didn't even want to say good morning.

Lizzy tried not to care. She really did. Lizzy held off on the shower (she didn't have any clean clothes, but she did call Marie to swing some by), but she did towel herself off as best she could. She would at least look presentable.

After that, Lizzy took off her socks (she had made the mistake of sleeping in them, and found a large sweatshirt slung over the back of a chair in the den. She shrugged. Better than jeans.

Lizzy was on the short side, by any standards, but she was also petite; the man's sweatshirt hung almost to her knees, protecting her modesty and then some. It would be a little embarrassing, but hopefully her actual clothes would arrive soon.

Lizzy's hair was a tangled bed-head, of course, but there was nothing for it. She left Marie another message, and hoped she would bring a hairbrush. Lizzy found some toothpaste and scrubbed her teeth with her finger.

When she emerged, no one else was awake— at least, none who were admitting it. Will's legs were still crossed in an uncomfortable looking position, and his face was very concentrated on looking like he wasn't concentrating. It gave Lizzy a little pang inside. She would never wake up by his side, and have him happy to see her.

She breathed deeply, shook off her melancholy, and padded to the kitchen.

Cooking. Yes, cooking would help. It always did. The Playpen cafeteria wasn't elaborate, but it would suit.

Lizzy turned on the stove and breathed in a sigh of relief as the warm air wafted up, smelling slightly of tomatoes. In, and out. It would all be okay.

She found some eggs in the freezer, and cracked one open skillfully. Turning on the sink, she let the water run over the pan, washing away her worries. Afterwards, Lizzy found some bread, and set about making some French toast. There wasn't any syrup in sight (which was a failing indeed), but she could always run down and grab some from the QuickaSnack. Lizzy hummed to herself, swirling around the kitchen, putting some ham on the skillet, since there was no bacon to be found.

She sashayed softly over to the fridge and, finding some delicious looking blackberries, popped one in her mouth. Then she looked up and saw Will staring at her.

Lizzy yelped, and almost dropped the carton. He rushed to pick up some of the scattered fruits, keeping his eyes uniformly on the ground.

"Well," she said, breathlessly, attempting a smile, "Good morning, Sleepyhead."

Will just looked at her. After a minute he said, "Do you and your sisters often get up this early?"

Lizzy glanced at the clock, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth. "Ummm, what do you mean? It's almost nine."

Will colored, and murmuring something like 'yes, yes, of course.' He cleared his throat. "So," he started, "How are you?"

"Pretty good," Lizzy replied hesitantly. "Slept good."

"Great, that's great," Will mumbled. His face looked sunburned.

"Hey.. are you alright?"

He started. "What! Yes! I'm fine, just, um, need to take a shower, is all."

"Okay," Lizzy said faintly, "Bye." But he was already rushing off and out of sight.

Lizzy bit her lip again, and swiped at her eyes. He couldn't even look at her. He probably took one look at her disgustingly matted hair and dirty clothes and thought, 'wow, I slept next to THAT? Gross.'

She didn't like to admit it, but her confidence was bruised by Will's dismissal. She shouldn't care what he thought! She shouldn't! But still. Lizzy felt about as attractive as a toadstool.

Little did she know, William Darcy was at that moment suffering through one of the coldest showers of his life. Waking up, with the most gorgeous woman he had ever met on top of him, had been more than he could take. He hadn't known how long he was forced to stay in that idiotic sleeping bag until he claimed down enough to be seen, but it was a while.

And then, just when he walked into the kitchen for some toast, he saw her again. Looking sweet and rumpled unbelievably sexy, calling him Sleepyhead and nibbling at her bottom lip, blushing and wearing his clothes… it was too much. She was too lovely. Too tempting. He had to control himself. He had to. For her sake.

So, at breakfast, Darcy shoveled in as much of that delectable French toast as he could, then excused himself to go for a jog. He tried to ignore Lizzy's forlorn look as he walked out the door. This was for her own good. He couldn't control himself around her. They needed some distance, if they wanted to stay friends.

Later in the day, one of Lizzy's sisters, Marie showed up with a bag of clean clothes and some toiletries. Lizzy looked like she was about to sing hallelujah, until the other Benníts walked through the door.

They came under the pretense of making sure Rosa Jane was okay (she was), but Darcy got the feeling they were just there for matchmaking, and, possibly, to be the bane of his existence. He couldn't control the disgust written on his face as Mrs Bennít crowed about her daughter's rich boyfriend. You didn't need to speak Spanish to know she wasn't being polite. It was broadcasting on the way Lizzy looked shamefaced and mortified whenever her mother opened her mouth.

Darcy wanted to comfort her. He wanted to take her hand, and tell her it was okay, that he had embarrassing relatives too. That it wasn't her fault.

He didn't. He just sat there. Yearning. Like a loser.

It was probably for the best he didn't see her much that day. Darcy was far too involved in his own head, daydreaming about what would happen that night. He was so consumed with this train of thought, that when Bingley suggested they all play Twister later, Darcy's mind immediately went to an image of Elize, pinned beneath him, his hands on hers, that shy smile gracing her lips as she watched him from under her eyelashes. Her eyes would blink like jewels. Her lips would taste like cherries. Her skin under his would radiate heat, and she would press her tongue to that sensitive spot under his jaw, tasting his sweat and—

Darcy declined the game, and excused himself from the party for a half hour.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed when Lizzy announced she was going out with a friend. Darcy couldn't help but worry about her, staying out so late at night. He paced around the Playpen agitatedly. It didn't really matter.

He didn't know what he was feeling, but there was a lot of it.

She wasn't there to make them dinner. They ordered pizza. It tasted bland without her smile. Darcy was beginning to regret ignoring her all day. Was she mad at him? Probably. She had the right to be.

By 2am, Darcy was fed up with waiting. The sleeping bag was too cold without her. Darcy, disgusted with himself, walked out into the chilly night to find her. As much as he had hated his guilty pleasure in the morning, he loathed the empty satisfaction of his solitude.

He wondered if she was thinking about him.